


the canons bark and jump for joy

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Fisting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega!Harold, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6314173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets dosed with a chemical that simulates omega heat. Harold takes charge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the canons bark and jump for joy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabrina_il (marina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/gifts).



Beckett's guys were counting on Reese being knocked out by sheer surprise. Beckett's guys, beside working for a human trafficker, were also not the brightest bulbs in the box. Reese had three of them kneecapped and one curled up and whining in fetal position by the time the police arrived, and then he got the hell out.

There was no time to think. He had to get away before he physically couldn't: Reese could work through a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid or arrogant enough to think he could power through a full induced heat like nothing was going on.

The problem with not taking time to think, though, was that you ended up relying on your instincts. Reese only realized the issue with _that_ when he found himself on the steps of the library.

He raised a hand to his earpiece and closed his eyes. "Finch. You need to get out of here."

"I agree I'd've preferred somewhere more comfortable," Finch said, "but going out again at this stage seems profoundly unwise." 

It took John another precious second to realize that Finch's voice wasn't coming from the earpiece, that Finch stood right there where John could touch him. John curled his hands into fists in a desperate attempt to remind himself not to touch.

Even from yards away, he could feel Finch's body radiating warmth at him. One step closer couldn't hurt. Two steps.

John paused when he was within touching distance of Finch. "Harold." His voice was thick. He chose his words with care, so Finch wouldn't be able to misinterpret them. "You need to get out."

Finch looked up at John, infuriatingly fearless. "I disagree."

John had been trained to hit below the belt, when necessary. "Didn't figure you for the kind of guy who'd take advantage of somebody in heat." 

"If I believed for a heartbeat that you were concerned for your autonomy," Finch said, unperturbed, "I probably would leave. As I doubt that's the case, I have no intention of doing so." He tilted his head. "We're both well aware there isn't a single part of you that isn't mine already."

John tried to answer and found his throat too impossibly dry and tight, even as other parts of him went impossibly wet and open.

"I thought so," Harold said, with the grim satisfaction of being proven right. "I've blown up the air mattress for you. It's not ideal, but it was the best I could do under such short notice."

Harold also brought a small collection of toys. "Just what I had on hand," he said.

John failed to suppress a shudder at the realization that these were Harold's own toys, ones he'd used for his own heats. His gaze settled on one brutally thick dildo, and he made a small, inarticulate noise.

"Pace yourself," Harold said reprovingly. "This is technically your first heat: give yourself time to adjust."

John did not want time, for adjusting or for anything else. It felt like something was clawing at his insides, burning him. If he had to split himself open to take that fire out, John was willing to do that.

Harold shook his head, exasperated, but he also helped John take off his clothes. "You'll feel better," Harold said, with authority, and then spread John over the air mattress.

To an extent, Harold was right. The cool air on his body was an improvement, as were soft sheets under him. The best improvement, however, was when Harold quickly removed his own clothes and joined him.

"Skin contact helps," Harold said. "Now lie face down, and I'll see what I can do."

John wasn't really listening, too busy rutting against the sheets. He was distantly aware that soon the friction would be too much, but just now, God, it was perfect.

He found himself shocked into stillness at the first touch of Harold's fingers. Harold went directly at John's entrance, spreading him open and sliding inside easily. John was very wet. Harold's fingers were blissfully cool against his heated, swollen skin.

"You got home just in time, didn't you," Harold murmured, twisting his fingers inside John.

After that, conscious thought was a distant memory. John ground down, every so often pausing with a shudder and cry. The sheet beneath him was soaked with John's come and slick and sweat, and John couldn't stop pressing against it.

Pretty soon, though, it wasn't enough.

"Fuck me," John said, hoarsely."I need it. Please." He knew it wouldn't help: he needed a knot, and Harold didn't have one to give him. It's just that he couldn't help himself begging, either.

Harold's other hand stroked John's back. He didn't answer. Instead, the fingers inside John retreated, making John keen, and then came back with reinforcements.

Four fingers did the trick, for a little while.

When that stopped working, Harold gently gripped John's nape with his clean hand. "Stay down," Harold said, "and trust me." John did as he was told as Harold's fingers left him.

Harold's hand came back moment later, chilly with a new layer of lube. John vaguely knew what was going to happen even before he felt the tip of Harold's thumb at his hole, a hint of the coming breach.

"We could try something else, if you like," Harold said, his hands unmoving.

John swallowed. "Do it."

He cried out when Harold pushed all five fingers inside him. Jesus Christ, it was a lot, almost enough to stun even his body in its needy state into silence.

Almost. Then a moment later John was wriggling, taking Harold's wrist inside him, groaning when Harold's hand curled into a fist and moved, putting pressure right where John needed it.

John sobbed. He didn't care. Crying felt good, too, another kind of release.

After that, he didn't need to move very much. All he needed was the slightest rocking motion, and within moments he would tense and spill. Another few minutes, of course, and he'd be hard again, desperate once more: but it was a brief, manageable desperation, and in the lulls Harold quietly spoke to him, told John how well he was doing.

"I'm fine," John said, during a rare moment of clarity. "How are you holding up?"

Instead of answering, Harold gave his wrist one sixteenth of a turn, making his knuckles rub up against John's insides, making John hiss and squirm and come again.

“I suppose the horse is out of the barn already,” Harold mused. “We could go for the dildo after all, if you like.”

John shook his head, eyes closed. It was enough– no, that was a lie, but Harold’s hand was about all he could take at the moment. It helped, in a way, knowing that it was Harold’s skin and bone and muscles moving in him, shoring him up.

“You’ll make it,” Harold said, and the quiet trust in his voice alone could have held John up through torture - which this was, in a way, inflicted by John’s own body. “You’ve gone through worse and survived.”

John didn’t answer at first: he was too busy coming once more, a full-body shudder that felt almost like a seizure, clutching around Harold’s hand. “I’ll live,” he said, once he had the breath for it. A sudden thought occurred to it. “Is heat like this for you every month?”

“Not quite,” Harold said, and even through the fog of heat John could tell he was deflecting.

John groped blindly behind his neck, until he found Harold’s hand and clutched it tightly. “Let me help next time.”

After a long hesitation, Harold said, “All right.”

John could just make out the words before he was climaxing, harder than before. His entire body seized, come pouring out of him like he was being wrung dry, escaping him along with a long, heartfelt groan. 

"I'll have to take it out now," Harold said after a moment. 

The strain in his voice chased off some of John's post-coital haze. "Are you okay? Your wrist--"

"Is fine." Harold gave him a rueful shrug. "Would you like a plug?"

John contained the shudder that wanted to go through him. "Don't change the subject. Are you alright?"

"Perfectly. Just a little," Harold's voice hitched, ever so slightly, "distracted."

John hadn't really noticed Harold's erection until that point. In his defence, he'd been preoccupied. "Really," he murmured, shifting instinctively. He could feel that his relief was temporary, a fire down to embers that would roar again at the first opportunity. He spread his legs a little further, arching his back.

"John." Harold's voice was badly frayed. 

"I thought you didn't care about my autonomy," John purred, displaying himself blatantly.

"That's not what I said. I said _you_ didn't." Despite the biting tone, Harold's hands were back on John's skin, confident, perfect.

"Then there's no reason for you to hold back, is there?" John rolled over, belly up, and gazed at Harold through lowered lashes.

Harold grumbled, "You're impossible," but he clambered on top of John all the same. 

He rocked into John slowly, gasping, a weight that John loved to bear. The friction of his cock entering John was just skirting the line of _too much_ , filling without stretching.

"You'll need more soon," Harold said, voice low, guttural. "I can't-- Oh, John."

John closed his arms around Harold's back. "This is good for now." He let his eyes slip shut, let himself slide down and out of awareness. "This is good."


End file.
